Scars
by PrincessRudolph
Summary: "He only wore long sleeved things nowadays. He himself couldn't bare seeing it, it made him physically ill just to think about it. (...) The mark stood in a stark contrast to his naturally pale skin and Draco stared at it, disgusted." After the war, Draco can't stand the mark anymore. Luna helps him. Mild self harm! Bit dramatic but also fluff! Hope you enjoy, little Munchkins! xx


A/N: Wow, holy mum, where did that come from? It kind of just...happened, to be honest. There are a gazillion things I could change about it, but I do like it a lot right now and I don't want to ruin it. Oh, yeah, warnings...mild self-harm, not detailed, but still, if you are a very sensible flower, please be careful, for your own sake! None of the characters are mine, J.K. Rowling claims them, and she did make them up rather beautifully, so thank her for that. Also thanks to gorgeous Ceri for reading through it!

I hope you enjoy, if you did, maybe leave a Review as they are very much appreciated! Have a great day, munchkins! Lots of love xx

It was dark in the bathroom, the only light being the faint glimmer of the moon, shining through the curtainless window. Dracos glare was fixed on his own image in the little mirror over the sink. Shadows under his eyes, his cheekbones poking out more than usual – he got very little sleep lately. He had dreams of a flashing green light, a high, cold voice, the feeling of death creeping in on him...then he would wake up with a scream, sweating and shaking.

Ignoring the trembling of his hand, he pulled up the sleeve of his pyjama shirt. He only wore long sleeved things nowadays. He himself couldn't bare seeing it, it made him physically ill just to think about it. After taking a long, shaky breath, he slowly lowered his gaze.

The mark stood in a stark contrast to his naturally pale skin and Draco stared at it, disgusted. There were scratch marks where he had been clawing at the skin until blood was dripping. It was like an urge sometimes, an urge he simply couldn't seem to control. It came over him all of the sudden, the need to rake his nails over the skin, break it. Of course that didn't help getting rid of it.

Sometimes he thought that this must have been what Potter had felt all his life. Being marked, not able to change anything about it. Did Potter ever try to scratch his scar away? Of course there was the fundamental difference, that Draco chose to get marked, while Potter really couldn't help it. He often thought about that lately. Did he choose to get marked? Was it his own, free will? Wasn't it actually pure pressure from the outside, his parents, all the other death eaters, the Dark Lord, that finally made him get the mark? Could he blame them? Or was it just him, in the end? Just stupid little Draco, throwing himself on the Dark Side, thinking it would get him anywhere? Probably so, he thought.

He felt tears prickle in the corners of his eyes and shut them tight. That was also something that happened quite often lately, him crying, and also something he couldn't quite help doing. His eyes would be red and puffy in the morning, so he wouldn't leave the house. Not that he would have done anyway. Draco preferred staying inside, studying. After the war, he discovered he quite enjoyed reading, sitting in his room on his own, losing himself in books. And, fascinatingly enough, he took quite a liking to history of magic. It really wasn't as dull as his professors at Hogwarts always made it seem. He even thought about...maybe one day...teaching himself...he knew so much now...why not... But no. That would mean leaving the house, stepping up, having to face the world. He really didn't think he could bear it. Not after all that happened, not after the war. Or could he?

The mark started itching and he had to put his hands to fists to stop himself from scratching. It was easy some days...today was not that day. And then he felt small arms circle his waist, slender fingers locking behind his back. Her gorgeous hair, the colour of sunshine, smelt like lavender and he could feel her heart beating against his chest. She pressed her head into his shoulders and took a deep breath. His arms went around her, grabbed the thin nightgown she was wearing, happy to have found something to do besides scratching.

"Why are you up, Draco?" she mumbled sleepily, her voice sweet and dreamy and so incredibly soothing. It was like honey, lazily running down his aching soul, healing it. It nearly brought him to tears again. "The usual" he replied, stroking her shoulder blades, resting his chin on top of her head. "Did I wake you, Luna?" She shook her head, before she said: "Have you scratched again?"

Luna had found out about three months ago. He had already been scratching for a while then, but he got good at hiding. It wasn't unusual for him to wear long sleeved shirts, and if he woke up in the night with the undying urge, he made sure not to wake her. But three months ago, the urge got strong, in the middle of the day. She was in the garden, talking to plants, singing to flowers or whatever it was she did to make them grow as strong and healthy as they did. He went to the bathroom and soon enough, blood poured into the sink, making him groan in pain and anger. Then he heard her entering the house, calling him, her voice as dreamy as ever. In his panic he wrapped a white towel around his arm. Luna very nearly danced into the bathroom, about to tell him something, when she saw the blood seeping into the towel. She thought he had had an accident while chopping vegetables for dinner, or something else entirely harmless. But when she ripped the towel away to look at the wound her gorgeous eyes widened in shock. It broke his heart.

She was calm and understanding and never got angry at him for hurting himself. He knew it affected her a lot, but she wouldn't show, because she didn't want to cause him more pain. But one evening he heard her crying to herself in the bedroom and when Draco checked on her, her delicate fingers held the bloody towel. Although it was tough, he didn't scratch for four days afterwards. But it was too hard to control. Luna never told him directly to stop, she was much gentler than that. When she could see him getting fidgety, his fingers starting to get restless, she would put them on her shoulders, asking for a massage, or just intertwine them with her own. The one thing she would never do was look at the scratch marks directly, and he understood. He would wear a bandage when they were lying in bed together, and he knew she appreciated that. It hurt him, to be honest, the way she refused to look at it, like she didn't accept him completely. But he took it as a punishment for himself, a punishment for scratching.

He breathed in her scent, pulling her even closer. "I didn't. Not yet. But...I would have." It was hard to admit it, but he knew it was true. "Come back to bed? Please..." She took a step back and looked at him, tiredness in the ocean blue eyes that could look directly into his soul. Instead of answering, Draco took her hand in his, relishing in the feel of her soft skin, and guided her back to the bedroom. Luna crawled under the covers and he joined her, pulling her petite frame into his body. She kissed his neck, hot breath tickling his skin, and he could feel her hesitating. "Everything okay?" he asked, looking at her puzzled. That's when she sat up again and, taking a deep breath, said: "Let me see it"

His eyes widened in shock and he couldn't answer straight away. "You...you..." he mumbled, tripping over words, "You want to see it? Are you sure?" Draco thought that she didn't look like she was, but she nodded anyway. "Yes" Her delicate fingers took a careful hold of his arm, slowly pushing the sleeve up, just like he had done it. She was so much gentler in her actions and he couldn't help the shiver that ran through him. Another deep breath and her eyes met his arm, dark mark, surrounded, decorated with thin and thick red lines, the newest barely two days old.

Draco shivered, her gaze made him uneasy, he felt ugly, marked, unworthy, flawed... Fear flooded him, what if she was as disgusted as he was? What if she would leave him? What if she wouldn't find him appealing anymore? She hadn't said anything, why hadn't she said anything? He felt so self conscious, so awful. He tried to pull his hand away, but, to his great surprise, she wouldn't let him. Luna was much stronger than she looked, and she kept hold of his arm, refusing to let go. When she bowed her head down, he thought she was going to cry, but instead, she pressed her warm, soft lips to the mark on his arms, in such a careful, gentle way that it made his eyes water all over again.

He let out a deep breath he hadn't realised he was holding, when her lips met his wrist over and over again, kissing the mark and every single scar around it, until his face was covered in tears. Then she brought her head back up and kissed him full on the lips, a salty kiss, he wished would never end. "I love you. Forever. And nothing will ever change that. No mark, no scar, nothing. I love you, Draco. And you should start loving yourself again, too." She breathed against his lips. His eyes met hers and he saw truth in them. Would he ever understand how they ended up together? How she fell in love with him, his flawed, dark and horrid self? A smile formed on her wonderful lips, a small one, but a smile nevertheless. Probably not.

His gaze flickered to his arm, the mark and the scars and maybe – maybe – if she could...he could learn to live with them, too. 

Nana xx


End file.
